


The Purrfect Challenge

by EmeraldSage



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Boys In Love, Fluff, Happy Ending, I should combine them into one shouldn't I?, M/M, RusAme, and goodness, boys being stupid, challenge, minimal angst, tell me how I did?, this was meant to be pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27058558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldSage/pseuds/EmeraldSage
Summary: The Challenge.  A rite of passage that every Kirkland had gone through, born from an old Fae tradition their ancestors had brought with them.  Every single member of the clan, upon their twenty-first birthday, had released a challenge – unique to themselves and incredibly personal – that must be fulfilled in order to win their hand in marriage.  And without fail, every Kirkland who’d found a spouse through their Challenge remained married, loyal, andhappyuntil their death.It was the very reason Ivan was here, having chased rumors and whispers and stories across the sea to get where he was.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 79





	The Purrfect Challenge

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Title Unknown (Comic)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/701833) by lullychi. 



> Suspension of period-typical homophobia. This is a fantasy medieval AU – please keep that in mind

Ten years since he’d seen the other, and it was his voice - matured and cheerful, one that Ivan had never heard before - that caught his attention.

“Thank you for your patronage! Please come again!” the cheerful voice rang out, just loud enough that it curled around him, causing him to pause.

_Ah,_ he thought, as he caught sight of a wheat-gold gleam like a shining beacon amongst everyday tones, _found you, darling_.

It was a quaint little town, he pondered idly as he made his way down the paved main street towards that wheat-gold gleam. Certainly, it wasn’t at all where he would’ve expected his wayward quarry to be.

His mischievous target was a ray of sunshine under the cloud-covered little village. Wheat tresses gleamed like spun gold even with only the occasional sunbeam poking through the clouds to enhance it. He was easily one of the most desirable men in town. Even despite the fact that he was quite the powerful witch – who could, and had, turned most of his more persistent suitors into animals and exotic flora like the witches of legend – he was pursued relentlessly. His looks alone – fae and mischievous, with a handsome beauty he shared with his brothers – would’ve called suitors to his door in droves. But in addition to his loveliness, he was the youngest son of Arthur Kirkland, Duke of Albion, the Grand Admiral of the Five Kingdom fleet…and the youngest grandchild of Britannia’s beloved Queen.

At least, that’s who he was to those in the know.

To the townspeople, he was a charming young witch. He had a smile for everyone he saw, went out of his way to help people when they were struggling, and ran an apothecary filled with herbal remedies, potions and poultices out of his small stall in town center, for whomever needed the extra help once normal remedies had failed. He worked with the healers on harder cases, and kept a steady supply of remedies for anyone in need. He was a hard-worker, though mischievous – as those of Fae and trickster blood oft were – and was well known for the excellent quality of his work.

And a whole ocean away from his grandmother’s domain, he was a normal young man making a somewhat odder version of a normal lifestyle. At least, he _had_ been…until a year ago.

A year ago, Alfred Kirkland-Jones had finally reached one-and-twenty years of age, and thus was eligible to be married. And his family, as dearly as they loved him, were anxious to see him married and cared for, rather than living by his wits across the pond.

So, in accordance with a tradition as old as the Isles themselves, the matriarch and Queen had summoned her grandson to their ancestral clan territory and demanded his Challenge to be put forth.

The Challenge. A rite of passage that _every_ Kirkland had gone through, born from an old Fae tradition their ancestors had brought with them. Every single member of the clan, upon their twenty-first birthday, had released a challenge – unique to themselves and incredibly personal – that must be fulfilled in order to win their hand in marriage. And without fail, every Kirkland who’d found a spouse through their Challenge remained married, loyal, and _happy_ until their death.

It was the very reason Ivan was here, having chased rumors and whispers and stories across the sea to get where he was.

A small black blur darted out from behind the young witch’s stall, catching his eye as it paused in the middle of the open road. The regular townsfolk just shook their heads with fond smiles as they wove around the blur, and Ivan didn’t quite realize why until they cleared away enough for him to see it.

A black cat stood proudly in the middle of the street, a delicate leather collar resting around its graceful neck. Blue eyes studied the street haughtily, pausing for a moment to sit on its haunches. The sunlight sparked against something, gleaming silver and ornate, hanging off of the cat’s leather collar.

A key.

_The_ key.

Two men he’d mistaken as normal townspeople practically _leapt_ for the haughty feline, revealing themselves instantly to those watchful blue eyes and any other competition in the area, only to collide head on with each other as the cat jumped onto a passing cart and leapt up onto a windowsill just out of reach.

The feline looked almost _smug_ as it surveyed the groaning, moaning men tangled with each other in the dust of the town square – the newest entertainment for the residents of the previously sleepy town. Justifiably so, he supposed, feeling the amusement welling up inside him.

Not _nearly_ as smug, however, as a certain blond-haired blue-eyed witch, who’d been watching this afternoon’s dose of entertainment from the safety of his stall. He could see the corner of Alfred’s mouth kick up in amusement, teeth worrying the rose lips beneath them to keep a measure of control over his laughter as he surveyed the scene. Something like satisfaction curled in blue eyes, and – just barely out of sight for the rest of the square – he caught the flicker of magic spark from gloved fingertips. Out in the square, the cat ducked into an alleyway, the image warping to meld into the shadows as the attention on it faded away.

An illusion, he realized. And was barely able to bite back his own delighted laughter.

Oh, this was going to be _quite_ the challenge. But this was one challenge he intended to _win_.

**.**

Screams echoed through the night, pained and terrified. The few townsfolk who devoted an ounce of their thoughts towards the screams dismissed them without much contemplation; those were far too common by this time of year. Everyone in town knew the sound of the unfortunate folk who ran afoul Mr. Jones’s cat.

And it seemed that as of late, there were an increasing amount of people who were bothering that poor cat.

Said cat smirked as another of the annoying humans bolted away, cleaning his claws on the grass to rid it off the blood rather than lick it off. He was sure the filthy human would give him a disease of some sort - not that _his_ human couldn’t cure it, but he certainly didn’t want to take the risk.

And either way, the cat thought smugly, sauntering off towards one of the back routes in the forest that only one who knew them well could use, one less of the annoying ones to bother his human and take away the precious attention that belonged to _him_.

“You’re quite a ferocious little one, aren’t you?” a voice murmured from _right behind him_.

_That voice..._

The black cat almost tripped over his paws trying to whirl around and face the voice - the _oh so familiar_ voice - belonging to a very familiar face.

_It can’t be!_

The man who’d been behind him knelt down - _too close, too close_ \- hair somewhat disheveled and spiky in the humidity of the port city, dressed in thin layers that conveyed only a fraction of the enormous wealth he and his family possessed. It couldn’t be him, his panicked mind denied hysterically, it just _couldn’t_ be.

But the violet eyes that pierced him, warm and curious but cunning, gleaming in the moonlight, were undoubtedly _his_ , leaving him no room for doubt that this was anyone but Ivan Braginsky in front of him.

“Leading them around by their nose, and making fun of them all the while for having the audacity to think they were _worthy_ of your witch,” Ivan continued, smirk curling on his lips. “Quite admirable, little one.”

The cat narrowed his luminous eyes, meowing suspiciously. Ivan finding amusement in the plight of his human’s suitors would be nothing out of character, but it was still suspect to the finicky feline. Ivan’s smirk curled into a smile, as if he knew what the familiar was thinking.

“Yes,” Ivan muttered quietly, almost too quietly for the feline to hear him - likely the point, said feline thought - and smiled, “admirable indeed. You’re definitely a smart one.”

He looked up at the human’s cunning violet eyes - almost as bright as his own, he mused - and purred in contented agreement.

Ivan smirked, “Give my greetings to your companion, if you please,” he said, “and do tell him that I quite look forward to catching up with him.”

The cat paused at that pronouncement, tilting his furry head, almost curious, before he meowed a single time in agreement.

Ivan tipped his figurative hat to the watching familiar and stood, straightening to his full height, before turning to stride back the way he’d come.

The cat’s wary blue eyes gleamed in the darkened street’s gloom as they watched the other walk away, mind racing. He shifted almost soundlessly to sit on his haunches, the soft tinkling of the silver key against the bell on his collar the only noise to indicate the movement. His mind raced, considering the new, unexpected player that was entering this game of matchmaking, and the opening move he’d played.

_Well, well_ _,_ he thought, the thrill of satisfaction and anticipation climbing higher and higher in his veins as he let the shift wash over him, _this will be interesting_.

**.**

Given that he’d all but named the cat last night as Alfred’s familiar, he should’ve expected the events of the next day. But nonetheless, it still surprised him when a voice spoke from right behind him, almost startling him into dropping the pastries he’d been perusing.

“Well, well,” the newly familiar voice said from behind him, “aren’t you a sight?”

He almost smirked, pushing down his surprise. He hadn’t expected Alfred to find him so soon, after all. He didn’t turn right away, merely finished his transaction with the baker - who was watching the two of them with growing interest in her eyes - before glancing over his shoulder to where a newly-familiar figure was lounging against another building.

“Are you truly so surprised to see me, Alfred?” he inquired, a smile quirking at the corner of his lips.

Alfred shrugged, pushing off of the wall with graceful ease, “Given that the last time I saw you, you were heading off for your fostering at that snobby German noble’s house maybe _ten years ago_ , yeah, I’d say so.”

“Ah, but in the few years that I was fostered,” Ivan countered, “you had decided to transplant yourself across the Atlantic. Your brother ranted quite a bit about how you’d decided to move even before he’d returned from his own fostering, and hadn’t returned until the Challenge. How was I to see you after that?”

Alfred scowled at him, as they started walking down the street together towards the forest road, away from curious eyes that followed them. “That’s easy enough,” he retorted mockingly, “you weren’t.”

“You wound me, Fedya.”

Alfred’s blue eyes sparked, almost flinching at the old nickname, before he recovered and his scowl darkened, “Cut the crap, Braginsky,” he demanded, and Ivan merely raised a single questioning brow in response, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Now, Ivan blinked in true surprise. Had Alfred never considered that he’d….

“I should’ve thought that it would’ve been obvious,” he said dryly.

Alfred mimicked his raised brow, eyes stubborn and demanding just as they had been when they were children, gearing up for another argument. A part of him wanted to roll his eyes at the stubborn expression, but a gentle warmth curled inside his stomach at the familiar sight - something that hadn’t changed in the decade they’d been apart.

“If I knew,” Alfred bit off, “do you think I’d be _asking_?”

“I’m here,” he begins gently, “for the Challenge.” He pauses, just enough for the words to hit Alfred, watching as his eyes widened, the meaning sinking in, “ _Your_ Challenge.”

Something flickered in Alfred’s eyes, and for a split second, Alfred looked shaken - vulnerable in a way he hadn’t seen the younger man _ever_. But then Ivan blinked, and the vulnerability was gone, leaving only a stubborn-eyed young witch in its place.

Alfred laughed, the sound coming out slightly forced to Ivan’s ears, “Damn, you almost got me with that one,” he said, and Ivan frowned slightly when he saw the tense line of the other’s shoulders. “‘Suppose you’ve got your own business in town, don’t need to tell me.” And then he turned, as if he was leaving, and Ivan realized Alfred really didn’t believe him.

“Alfred,” he sighed, and the other stilled, glancing back over his shoulder. Ivan had stopped walking when Alfred had gotten tense, so now they stood there together, at the intersection of two paths. “Do you not believe me?”

Alfred snorted, but there was no amusement in the sound, “You know you could’ve come up with a better excuse - or just told me it was none of my business.”

Ivan smirked, “But you are, in fact, the reason that I’m here. I know it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, but you should know that I don’t like to lie to you.”

_Because you always seem to know when I do it._

So why did Alfred - who _knew_ he was telling the truth - seemed to be eager to believe he was lying?

Something stubborn - hot and angry - flashed in Alfred’s eyes, before the other spoke again, a weak laugh covering the strain, “You’ve gotten better at it.”

Ivan’s eyes hardened, “You don’t think I’m being serious.”

Alfred snorted, “Why the hell would you be?” he demanded, “Of all the people in the world to go after, why the hell would you pick me?”

“If you had maybe listened to what I was saying before heading straight for denial, I would feel more inclined to tell you,” he said dryly.

“If you stop messing with me,” Alfred growled, and Ivan almost pushed away the growing anger when he realized Alfred’s hands were _shaking_ , “maybe I’d actually listen to you.”

“Do you really believe this is something I would do to mess with you, Alfred?” he demanded, the anger churning hotly in his gut at the thought, “Something as sacred as a _Challenge_?”

“It’d be hard to believe,” Alfred snapped, “but we’ve been at odds since practically the day we _met_! It’s a bit of a change going from you trying to kick the shit out of me on a regular basis to wanting to _marry_ me!”

“You’re neglecting to mention the numerous occasions I decided to - how did you put it, kick the shit out of you? - you would start our meetings by punching me in the face,” Ivan retorted dryly, shaking the anger off for weary amusement. That had been quite the phase the young Kirkland prince had gone through.

Alfred flushed at the reminder, but his eyes were still stubborn, his mouth pressed into a hard line, and Ivan sighed. “Why don’t I make you a deal, Fedya,” he murmured, leaning forwards and catching Alfred’s split-second tension at the movement and the old nickname, “When I win, I will tell you my reasons. If you find them sufficient, you will follow the edicts of the Challenge and marry me. If, after you hear my reasoning, you do not agree, I will return the key and forfeit.”

The line of Alfred’s shoulders was so tense, Ivan was sure it had to be painful. But after a moment of staring at him, contemplatively, Alfred relaxed, just a little.

“You sure you’re not being presumptive there?” he snorted, “ _When_ you win?”

Ivan cracks a wicked grin, but this time it’s more intent, because he _definitely_ caught a glimpse of that vulnerability creeping back into Alfred’s eyes. He never wanted to be the cause of _that_ , “So what do you say, Fedya?” he inquired, an eyebrow raised in question, “Will you accept my bargain?”

There’s quiet for a moment, but then Alfred smiled. It was sly and steely, and it didn’t reach his eyes, but there was something determined in his posture that reassured the elder man. Alfred snorted, “Good luck losing, then,” before he spun and walked off.

Ivan stood there and watched him go, feeling the anticipation and the thrill rising in his veins. He smirked, because it had been over a decade since Alfred had made a deal with him, and it seems like he’d forgotten the very basics. He’d challenged Ivan, after all.

And forgotten that Ivan had never encountered a challenge he couldn’t win.

**.**

But then again, that wasn’t true. Alfred had never forgotten him at all.

**.**

Ivan decided to wait for a few days before he ventured out for his search. Not that it took him long at all. He might’ve only been in the town for a week, but already, the sound of Alfred’s cat tormenting his suitors was a common feature of his night. He’d inquired briefly at the inn about the nightly shrieks, and the inn’s matron had clucked disapprovingly at the absent men, informing him without compunction about the tendencies of outsiders to harass the poor witch’s cat at night. It was only right, she’d told him, that the poor thing defended itself against their vitriol. Why, she’d even seen some of the heathens trying to trap the poor darling! It was such a sweet creature, she’d assured him, those men deserved it.

Ivan was more grateful than ever that he had no intention of trying to trap Alfred’s familiar. He’d seen some of the suitors come back from their night of trapping with massive scratches and scars _everywhere._ No, he had another plan in mind.

When dusk came, he went out in search of the clearing he’d found – not far from the cottage he knew Alfred was living in, but not close enough to be considered infringing on the young witch’s territory – and set up camp.

And then he waited for the curious familiar to come find him.

The first thing he brought the black cat was a bowl of fresh cream from the market place. He’d sourced it himself, speaking with the townspeople and the farmers before testing the quality and deciding it a worthy first gift. The next day, he toted along two freshly caught fish and roasted them over the gentle campfire, leaving a place open for his feline guest.

As the days passed, Alfred’s furry familiar found him sooner and sooner each night. That first night, he’d been made to wait until near dawn before the finicky feline deigned to grace him with his presence. The night he’d brought the fresh fish offering, he’d had to fend off several wild animals, and even set up a bird net to prevent them from making off with his bounty of the night. He hadn’t realized that the feline face could express so many human emotions – though perhaps, as a familiar, it was different – but he would’ve sworn the bratty cat had looked ridiculously amused when he was finally approached that night.

But, regardless, he was persistent. Every night, he set up camp in the same clearing. And every night, he’d come in with his offerings – fresh cream, the best of the daily catch from the docks, some soft new textiles the cat enjoyed kneading with his paws – and after a while, the cat would join him fairly early in the evening. One night, the bratty feline had popped up right behind him just as he was getting the fire going, meowing insistently for his offering of the night.

That was when he started talking to the cat.

Their routine earlier had been a simple one: the familiar would appear, study Ivan from the edges of the clearing, then slink forwards to claim the offering from where it lay before tucking in to enjoy it. The bratty familiar would then stare down the violet eyed man, before flouncing off to terrorize the rest of Alfred’s annoying suitors. Ivan would return to the Inn, contemplative, and pretend he was ignorant of all the eyes that watched his continued presence there with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation.

Then he started talking to the still wary animal. He’d startled the furry creature the first time he’d done it, but he hadn’t stopped. Every day, he would start tales of his childhood with his sisters -,

“Natalya had the worst stalking habit as a child, you’d never believe the terror she would inspire in people –,” 

– his best friends –, 

“Matthew got us out of so much trouble with that innocent face of his; people never realized that Alfred didn’t inherit all of the mischievous genes in their family. Oh, the plans we’d pull off –,”

– and of course, his…rather _complicated_ relationship with Alfred throughout their childhood.

“It is a difficult subject to speak of, kotenok. Alfred and I have not spoken in nearly a decade, and the last I saw him was…not a pleasant parting.”

And every night, the familiar stayed longer and longer, listening curiously – ears twitching – to story after story. And every day, as Ivan wandered the markets and town streets, he noticed how Alfred studied him. He saw the blue eyes dark and contemplative, Ivan watched him worry his bottom lip – an old habit he recognized from years ago – before Alfred decided to feign ignorance to his presence.

Every time he caught Alfred forcing himself to look away from him, Ivan felt a spike of satisfaction. Because even though he had been here for months already, although he’d spent many a sleepless night in the woods with only a cat for company…every minute that Alfred thought of him meant that he was getting closer to his goal. Because he didn’t just have to convince the cat to give him the key, he had to convince Alfred that he was a worthwhile suitor – that he was serious in his pursuit of Alfred, no matter how little Alfred believed it of him.

One night, after a particularly trying day in the market, the little familiar hopped up into Ivan’s lap and meowed demandingly, giving him wordless permission to pet him. It had been such a monumental gesture of trust by Alfred’s familiar.

The ink dark fur was as soft as he imagined a cloud would be, and not once did he even twitch near the leather collar that held the key. Blue eyes watched him, warring between approval and indecision.

And then, of course, the incident happened.

**.**

Frustrated shouting caught Ivan’s attention, drawing him away from where he’d been haggling with the baker’s wife. They exchanged startled glances, and turned towards where the commotion was.

_The Market Square,_ he thought. At the very least, the volume indicated _something_ was happening in the market square.

And indeed, something was.

There was an unconscious cat in a corner of the square, a frantic five year old trying to wake it up, and it’s owner glaring daggers at the cause of the commotion. Which appeared to be a particularly vicious suitor of Alfred’s.

“ - saw him give my son’s familiar the milk! Fucking poisoned the damn thing - she fell over only a few seconds later! In front of my son, too!”

Faces darkened across the square as the swelling crowds heard the rapidly circulating story. Ivan’s amongst them. He’d wondered how long the suitors would stay “honorable” with so much at stake. But to sink so low as to poison someone's familiar, even more so that it had turned out to be a _child’s_ familiar...no wonder the crowd was furious.

The suitor scoffed - obviously possessing neither common sense, nor tact - and said, posh city accent thick over condescending words, “It’s just a bleedin’ sedative. She’ll be right as rain in an hour or two.”

The man - the child’s father perhaps - almost _steamed_ at the casual disregard of something that would be considered a serious crime almost anywhere in the world. The fact that the man was obviously wealthy and that the villages this side of the pond had a more _lax_ justice system meant it was unlikely the bastard would suffer any consequences.

Well. Legal ones, anyways.

This side of the pond, community justice was a _vicious_ thing, indeed.

“Clear the way!” someone shouted, breaking the toxic standoff. “Healer coming through!”

The healer - a tall, thin, aging woman with skin as dark as willow bark and braided hair as pale as the moon - was striding quickly towards the commotion. But what drew Ivan’s attention and the suitor’s alike, was a familiar golden-haired witch following allow right at her heels, a potions bag in his arms, eyes dark in their fury.

The healer smiled kindly as she knelt before the young child sniffling at his familiar’s side, “Hello little one,” she said softly, “will you give me and my companion permission to treat your familiar?”

A sniffle, and a nod, and she went to work. Weaving magic and experience to find which sedative the snooty suitor had used. She frowned at some of the aura readings, and gestured Alfred closer to look at them.

He frowned, “Magnolia bark, I think,” he said, waiting for her hum of affirmation before rifling through his pouch and pulling out a small vial. “She should wake up on her own in time, but this should reverse it.” The healer inspected the vial, nodding abruptly, before administering it.

And, thankfully, it worked just as promised.

The child burst into tears as the familiar stirred moments later, his father slumping in relief, clasping both the healer’s and Alfred’s hand in his as he thanked them. The crowd seemed to ease at what they supposed was the conclusion of this particularly nasty incident.

Until the suitor decided he hadn’t done enough, and snatched Alfred’s wrist, yanking him towards him, snarling, “This isn’t fair!”

The square went silent.

Alfred raised a brow, eyes dark and foreboding, “Oh?” he said, voice deliberately, falsely calm, “How so?”

“You never let the damned cat near us,” the suitor snarled, although that was patently untrue, and most of the town knew it, “How the hell are we supposed to win otherwise if we don’t use any means necessary?”

Ivan’s eyes darkened as he watched Alfred almost flinch, the frustrated suitor’s grip biting bruises bone deep. Alfred straightened.

“Oh, I don’t know,” the witch drawled, “maybe being a decent human being would be a good start.”

The suitor flushed as the crowd tittered meanly, an ugly expression climbing over his mug, but the healer interrupted him before any other words could be exchanged.

“Do let go of him,” she said, turning to face them, voice utterly _icy._ “I don’t think you’re in the position to be assaulting people, on top of what you’ve already done, _sir._ You might want to watch yourself.”

The suitor huffed, dropping Alfred’s wrist like a hot coal as he faced off with an increasingly pissed off crowd. He spun on his heel and stormed off towards the inn, where Ivan knew he certainly wouldn’t be welcomed for much longer.

Alfred stared after the suitor, face dark and likely contemplating all the reasons he’d never wanted to pose the Challenge in the first place, before he turned back to the child and his father to make sure everything was still okay.

Ivan sighed, releasing his anger as he watched him go, resolving to be extra careful with the little familiar when he next saw the finicky feline. That was not how he expected the day to go.

**.**

It was later that evening when the little witch’s familiar finally met up with Ivan in their usual glade. The hectic events of the day had worn on all the villagers, and Ivan would not have been surprised if Alfred had asked his familiar to stay close for the evening.

But the young feline had made his way to their usual meeting spot, if not significantly later than usual, and Ivan was determined that he would make the furry creature glad he did.

“That was quite an adventure today,” he greeted the feline, who stretched an meowed in agreement as he slunk closer, “I thought for sure that he would keep you close tonight.”

The cat turned to look at him and he received the distinct impression that the cat had just raised a skeptic eyebrow at him. If he could’ve, he was sure the creature would’ve scoffed. He felt his lips twitch. As if any familiar stubborn enough to match Alfred would let their witch constrain them against their wishes.

He said as much to the cat as well, chuckling, “Fedya’s familiar indeed,” only to pause as he noticed the twitch of curiosity. He blinked at the cat’s sudden intense stare.

“Is there something wrong, kotenok?” he asked, curiosity mixed in with concern, because the familiar didn’t often react this way to what he was saying. “Something I said?”

A meow of agreement.

He hummed, contemplative, “All I mentioned was that you were Fedya’s – ,”

“Meow.”

He paused accordingly, and watched the furry black head tilt, blue eyes gleaming with curiosity. He felt a smile come to his face when he realized what the cat was likely confused about.

“You have never heard your companion be called ‘Fedya’?” he asked, and when he received another meow of agreement, he chuckled. “Good,” he said, a deep-seated feeling of possessiveness rising to the forefront as he considered the origins of that precious nickname, “because it is a nickname I gave him well over a decade ago, when we first met, and it means quite a lot to me.”

The cat tilted his head, curious, and Ivan chuckled again, the sound warm as the campfire against the chill of the fall weather.

“I suppose we’ve found the story I can tell you tonight,” he said, and the cat slunk forwards, bright eyed and curious, “Come kotenok, and let me tell you the story of my Fedya.”

**.**

_It was the first time Ivan was visiting the Royal family, and he was nervous._

_He’d developed a pen-friendship with the crown prince, Matthew, who was his age, and loved writing letters. And Natalya was good friends with the younger prince, Alfred. She and Katya had gone over to the manor estate the royal family used during the summer months, to get away from the oppressive heat of the south. He knew that they were good people, and their families were friendly. But he was still nervous._

_So nervous, and eager to make friends, he’d practiced his introductions in his head on the carriage ride over._

_None of it meant anything when he tripped coming down the small carriage steps and was bowled over by an excitable ray of sunshine._

_“DADDY! PAPA! THEY’RE HERE!”_

_Ivan blinked at the boy who’d knocked him over. His hair was the color of wheat, he marveled. It was so pretty. He was like a ball of sunshine condensed down into a single person, joy suffusing him like there was nothing in the world to be unhappy about._

_“You’re pretty!” the boy blurted out, staring at him curiously, and Ivan flushed._

_“I’m not pretty!” he retorted, flustered because he was just old enough to care, “Pretty is for girls!” And if there was ever an exception to that, it should be for this boy._

_The boy frowned, “No it’s not,” he protested, “Everything can be pretty. You’ve just got to be stupid, then.”_

_His jaw dropped, and behind the sunshine boy, a voice called out, exasperated, “ALFRED!” Another person ran up to them, huffing a little, and as they came into view, Ivan realized this must be his pen-friend. Matthew looked strikingly similar to his younger brother - Alfred only five to their eight - but with paler hair and indigo eyes, instead of ones like the sky. He was also looking ruffled, and pulled Alfred off of Ivan, allowing the other boy to push himself off of the ground. “You don’t just run over people, Al!”_

_“But he’s being stupid, Mattie!”_

_Ivan laughed at the ridiculous pout on this ridiculous child, who was nothing like what he’d pictured as Natalya’s best friend, “It’s okay Matvey,” he said, “It’s just Fedya being Fedya.”_

_Bright blue eyes turned to him suspiciously, “What does that mean?” the precocious child demanded, and Ivan smirked at him._

_“Well, you’ll just have to figure it out, won’t you?”_

_It was the first time Alfred ever punched him, but oh dear, it certainly wouldn’t be the last._

**.**

Ivan’s smile was nostalgic, “He always was an impossible child,” he said, with a light laugh, “but it was impossible to be unaffected. He was like a little sun, kotenok. A brilliant little sun.”

Ivan’s voice went quiet then, and he asked, “Did you know, kotenok, that I saw Alfred on the day he issued his Challenge?” He looked down at wide blue eyes, and knew the familiar had not. He smiled, achingly wistful, “He did not see me, but I saw him. I had just returned from months of travel, and I knew he would be home. And I thought, I had to see him, even if it was just the once.”

“He was so beautiful,” he whispered softly, knowing that there was an awe saturating his voice, but unable to help it. “So beautiful, dressed like the prince he was. But he was unhappy, and I could see it because his smile was not the same. It wasn’t the one he would give me whenever I would sneak him chocolate, or the grin he wore when we argued and he knew he would win. It wasn’t filled with mischief, or determination. He didn’t _shine,_ like that little sun I’d met ages ago. It was _fake,_ kotenok. And no matter how beautiful he looked, it meant nothing at all to how unhappy he was.” He paused for a moment, staring out at the trees, that heartbeat when he’d seen Alfred for the first time in over a decade coming to mind.

When he’d made his decision.

“And I understood,” he continued, “because I looked around me, and I saw the hordes of suitors who’d come out in droves. Who were watching him, _wanting him,_ for his wealth, for his beauty, for the pride of just having him. And I knew that they couldn’t possibly know the Fedya I had already grown to love.”

A disbelieving meow cut him off, and he smiled into those blue eyes that were so _achingly_ familiar, carding a hand through soft fur.

“I had already decided,” he explained, “when I’d gone to the Presentation, that I wanted to pursue him. I’d made that decision years ago. But if he’d told me he would rather I didn’t, I would’ve listened to him. But that moment was when I decided that I would win his Challenge. So none other could. And if he still doesn’t want me, he may tell me so. But I would keep him safe first, so that no other could force him into a marriage he doesn’t want.”

He smiled at the familiar, soft and wistful, wanting something he doubted he would ever have, “That is why I’m here, kotenok. This is why. If he ever gave me the chance, I would show him the thousands of ways I already adore him. If he gives me the chance to prove that I’ve loved him for longer than I can ever say, he will never regret it. But if he will not give me that chance, the least I can do is ensure that no one else takes it from him instead.”

**.**

That night, long after Ivan had left the clearing, and the witching hour had melted away into the gently rousing hours of the early morning, Alfred sat wearily on the window seat of his cottage. Some of the gray light filtered in, casting a faint glow on the mug he held in his fretting hands, face shadowed and still. His eyes were pensive, and he didn’t as much look out at the forest as he looked through it, almost as if he wasn’t seeing it at all.

A plaintive, pointed meow broke him from his heavy thoughts, and he looked up to smile, albeit faintly, at the unimpressed stare of his familiar.

He laughed at the look, “Suppose I should be getting ready for the market?” And not sitting here moping – something he hadn’t done since before the Challenge had been issued. When he’d realized he’d still have to give a challenge after all.

His familiar meowed at him again, this time irately. His smile faltered slightly.

“I don’t really want to talk about it.” He’d only been thinking about it all night.

The meow was chastising this time.

“I _don’t_ have to make the decision now. I can make it whenever – ,”

This meow was exasperated.

“Okay, I know the suitors are all getting super irritating, and _yes_ , that was a close call in the market place yesterday, but I don’t have to make a decision based on _one story_ that – ,”

“ _Meow!_ ”

“ _I don’t care that he said he loves me!_ ” he shouted, and felt like he’d screamed it, “Hells, how do I even know he was telling me the truth, and not some other random made up story that he wanted me to hear?!”

His familiar gave him a _look_.

“So he _didn’t_ realize I would hear the story because he wasn’t actually talking to _me_. That doesn’t – it _doesn’t_ mean he’s telling the truth. It _can’t_.”

His furry friend jumped up onto the window seat and snuggled up into his lap. Bright eyes in the gloomy predawn dimness locked with Alfred’s own blue ones, and his familiar meowed, comforting but firm.

“Yeah,” he sighed, reaching up to touch the pendant hanging from the leather cord around his neck, “Yeah. I guess…I’ll have to make a decision soon.”

**.**

“Alfred?” Ivan blinked at the state of the young witch in front of him, something in his heart softening at the sight of the dark bags highlighting darkened blue eyes. Just as the flare of rage spiked through his veins at the barest glimpse of faded bruises from the _‘encounter’_ the day before. Apparently, the bruises had been so deep, even Alfred’s strongest bruise cream hadn’t been able to heal it overnight. “Are you well?”

The blue-eyed witch blinked at him through the veneer of sleep that’d been following him all throughout the day, before he scowled, “Never better,” he mumbled.

Ivan looked at him, unimpressed, and stared pointedly at the younger man’s pale face, sleepy visage, and – just as Alfred’s cheeks began to flush with an endearing rage – he dropped his gaze to the still-bruised wrists. And said, dryly, “I _highly_ doubt that.”

Alfred scoffed, cheeks still endearingly flushed, “Whatever. What are you doing here, Ivan?”

The violet-eyed man raised a brow, “Must I have some sort of alternative reason to come see you?”

Alfred’s response was a blunt and unapologetic “Yes,” to which Ivan snickered, even as he conceded.

“Well, I would like to dispute that,” he snickered, “but I did come for a purpose.” He ignored the triumphant noise that came from the witch and pressed on, “I came to purchase one of your sleep remedies.”

Alfred’s eyebrows hitched up, “Sleepless nights, Braginsky? I don’t remember you having a problem like that before,” he said, even as he moved to grab the potion bottle and wrap it carefully. “In fact, I remember that we used to have problems waking you up.”

“Mmm,” Ivan hummed, “I don’t think you ever had a problem with that,” he said, smile sly, “Not with your flying tackles, darling.”

Alfred flushed, bright and brilliant and beautiful, all the way down to his neck. Ivan’s smile turned into a grin just shy of wicked.

The young witch shoved Ivan’s purchases into his hand, and Ivan almost gave into the urge to laugh. “Off with you, menace,” he barked, not able to disguise how the blush had spread to his ears, dusting tanned skin a pretty pink.

Ivan _did_ laugh then, dropping payment on the counter, and said, “Only because you asked me so nicely,” before continuing onwards to enjoy what seemed to be a fairly good day.

If only because it gave him a feel of what _could_ be, when he won, and damn if it wasn’t a wonderful feeling indeed.

**.**

He wasn’t expecting much that night, when he went to meet Alfred’s familiar, good day aside. He brought fresh cream, and a mind full of stories to keep his companion entertained; to keep from thoughts turning towards the incident of the day prior.

He certainly wasn’t expecting the finicky feline to be there _before_ him.

_Waiting for him._

Ivan stared dazedly at the ink-black cat meowing up at him irritably, as if chastising him for being late.

“My apologies, kotenok,” he managed to get past his shock, “I didn’t realize you would be here so early.”

The cat contemplated him for a moment, then meowed approvingly. Forgiven, Ivan supposed. He knelt down in front of the cat as he was approached for pets.

The ink-dark fur was as soft as always, and the familiar purred appreciatively. Oddly, though, the curious creature looked at him piercingly for a long moment, and then the cat twitched and - 

The leather collar popped off.

Ivan stared at it, heart freezing for a full beat, before he breathed out slowly. “Would you like me to put it back on you?” he offered, keeping his voice far more even than he thought he could.

Instead of taking him up on the offer, like he was sure the cat would’ve, the familiar bit down on one end of the collar and shook it. Once he was satisfied, he squirmed back into his collar and meowed up insistently at Ivan to help clasp it shut.

The key lay where it had tumbled off, while the familiar had been shaking off the leather collar, still and shimmering against the ink dipped darkness of the grass.

His heart felt like it would beat right out of his chest as he reached down to clasp the leather collar shut. He didn’t touch the key. He daren’t.

His hands were shaking.

But, as if hearing his thought process and deciding - in the manner of cats everywhere - to ignore it, the familiar bounded off and took the key in his mouth, before resting his front paws on Ivan’s thigh and nuzzling his hand.

And then, proceeded to drop the key in his hand.

Ivan stared at the key for a long, almost endless moment. Then, he turned his gaze back to watchful blue eyes waiting for him, and asked, voice slightly shaky, “Are you sure?”

The cat meowed, almost offended. As if asking, _are you questioning me, buddy?_

Ivan only replied with a weak, “If you’re sure,” and let his fingers close against the metal of the key.

A spike of magic raced through him as he did, the metal warming at his touch. It was like slipping into a warm bath, the heat dripping into his core and rippling outwards with a soothing, blissful calm infusing him. A warmth that wrapped around him like his favorite fur coat, made just for him and worn into his shape, comfortable because it was _his._ The magic settled into his core and he realized it was a different warmth as well - not his but _his_ all the same; a complement and a gift that he now held.

He’d won.

He’d _won._

Alfred’s familiar meowed, bringing back his attention to the watching cat, and he smiled at the animal. “Thank you,” he whispered, grateful beyond words, and received another dismissive meow in return. He almost felt like laughing, half hysteric, at the disinterest, but didn’t dare. Even knowing beyond a doubt that he’d won - that magical ripple couldn’t be a signal for anything less - he didn’t want to tempt fate.

But then Alfred’s familiar bit down on his pant leg and tugged, meowing insistently as he moved away. He blinked at the cat, still a little stunned, and watched as he repeated the action.

“You want me to follow you?” he asked, after a few repetitions, receiving an affirmative, exasperated meow in return. “Okay, _kotenok,_ lead the way.”

He followed the insistent cat through a path in the forest he was unfamiliar with. It looked well trod, and well maintained, so it couldn’t be completely abandoned. But in all his wanderings - and there had been many - he’d never once come across it.

It was only when he came to a quaint cottage at the end of the road that he realized why that must be

This was Alfred’s home.

At the cat’s insistence, he went up and knocked at the door, frowning slightly. The lamps were unlit and the house was dark – a clear sign that the young witch wasn’t home. But the cat had followed him all the way from their usual meeting spot in the forest, and kept nudging him along towards the house. Even now, knocking at the door, it remained at his side, eyes surveying him lazily but refusing to move.

He sighed, “It seems he is not home, _kotenok,”_ he said, turning to face the lithe feline. Said feline simply shook himself off, standing from his haunches, and nudged him into the door. He felt his eyebrows raise slightly, “You want me to open it, then?”

Another insistent meow had him moving the key towards the door, twisting it and unlocking it like he’d done it a hundred times before.

And watched as the door unlocked before him.

He inhaled, long and deep, and held it. Exhaled sharply. And pushed open the door. It swung open soundlessly, and Ivan stepped inside, moved as he was by the insistent cat on his heels.

It was a lovely little space, he thought, from what little of it he could see. A rack by the door with cloaks and winter scarves dangling from their hooks. A half-opened package that had been left by the door, it’s contents left sprawling between the small entry space and the potions set up that was just in sight, the next room over. Candles burning low, almost out, a sign of an owner out or gone to bed. A goofy looking clock hanging over the window, just within the sightline of whomever would be brewing at the table.

Charmed, he took another step forward. And then froze, as something creaked. And creaked again. Something was moving.

There was noise in the deserted cottage. Something moved out of the corner of his eye, and he whirled around, only to stare.

It was a cat. A cat the color of moonlight, with piercing red eyes that stared at him, before the cat turned away, meowing irately, and stomped off. He blinked, confused, because no familiar would ever let their witch have another animal of the same species as them – it was just not done. He turned to look at the cat who’d brought him all this way, only to blink again.

The cat was gone.

He spun around, eyes darting all over the darkened hallway, but nothing shone – no keen gleam of cat eyes in the dark, or a slinking form prowling around. The house was empty.

And then, from behind him, someone snickered.

He whirled around again, freezing in place when he locked eyes with gleaming blue in the darkness, just a few inches below his own eye level. The wheat-gold gleam was washed out in the cabin’s darkness, and he could only barely make out the figure lounging against the cottage walls.

But there was no mistaking those eyes.

Alfred smirked, “Congratulations.”

“Alfred, what -,” he said, startled. But why was he startled? This was Alfred’s home, he should’ve expected him to be here, only - where had the cat gone? And why were the hairs on the back of his neck prickling like something was _off -_

His eyes caught onto the strip of leather twined around Alfred’s neck, for once, hanging atop his shirt instead of tucked away. The ring that would hold the pendant dangling in the middle of his chest was curiously empty.

_A pendant no one has ever seen_.

The thought entered his mind like a flare, random thoughts falling into a pattern he’d never considered before.

The leather necklace around Alfred’s neck, with a pendant no one had ever seen. The same leather necklace, with spelled runes carefully etched into its surface, that was missing its pendant.

The leather collar that the cat had been wearing, with the _same runes_ etched into their surface, now missing a pendant. The cat that was now missing. And the pendant that had been given…he swallowed. The pendant that had been given to _him ._

“That test,” he said, and his voice was hoarse as his eyes met the gleam of blue standing across from him in the shadows, “it wasn’t to get the key from your cat. It was to get the key from _you.”_

To earn his trust, not his familiar’s. To earn his hand in marriage.

_I told you I loved you_. _I told you the million ways I would adore you for however long you would have me, if only you would give me the chance._

The memory of blue eyes studying him from a furry face, waiting and weighing his words until something had won out. Of the gentle nudge at his knuckles, and the weight of the silver key in his palm. Something warm and weighted sunk into his stomach as the beat of his heart raced and echoed in his ears.

_And you did_.

“You never had any intention of letting anyone win the challenge,” he said, throat completely dry, and Alfred’s smirk grew wider.

He swallowed roughly as Alfred shook his head.

“But I did.”

Alfred’s smirk grew even wider, and he chuckled, “So it would seem.” Only, his chuckle turned into full blown laughter as Ivan crossed the space between them in what seemed like one giant step, leaning into his space, arms wrapping around him.

“You devious little _brat,”_ Ivan breathed, pressing their foreheads together, and Alfred just laughed. Laughed like he can’t help it, can’t stop it – because god help him, but he’d never ever even considered that anyone would get here, get to this point. But a part of him – from god knows how long ago – had _known._

He stretched a hand out, tracing his fingers along Ivan’s cheek, cupping his face gently as he smiled through his laugher, “You always did make for the worst kind of winner,” he murmured.

Ivan grin was wicked, “Yet, you let me win anyways,” he cooed, “and after telling me I would never come close, too.”

Alfred eyed him, growing exasperation showing in his eyes, “You’re not going to let up on this one, are you?” he asked with a sigh.

“Never,” he promised, smug elation pulsing through his body. “I won your _unwinnable Challenge,_ my dear, so it’s really your fault, after all. I’m never going to let you forget it.”

“Such a bad winner,” Alfred groaned, then shook his head and laughed, “I suppose I can let it slide this one time. You’ve become quite the smooth talker after all, Vanya,” he smirked, keen cat eyes catching the faint flush on pale cheeks, even in the darkness. “Nothing like that young boy who was too emotionally constipated to realize that he had a crush. Or that, just _maybe,_ his crush was _reciprocated.”_

Ivan blinked, stunned, and something like wonder coming to his eyes as he registered what Alfred was saying.

What this stunning young man, this devious, cunning, mischievous, and utterly _stunning_ young man, had just said. The young man, young _witch_ , who’d just admitted – who’d just said that he’d, _that he’d…_.

Alfred almost laughed at the look of stunned wonder that was being sent his way, but pushed it down. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t felt the same way when he’d realized – he’d only been lucky Ivan hadn’t noticed how he’d reacted that day, when he’d told him no, he was seriously here for _Alfred,_ for Alfred’s _Challenge_.

“You punched me in the face every time we met for three years,” Ivan said, dazedly.

Alfred went red, “Well, it’s not like you didn’t get me back for those,” he retorted, “And how else was I supposed to get your attention? Nothing else worked.”

Ivan shook off his daze, and smirked, “Of course, darling, I’ll just keep in mind that your right hook means ‘Ivan, pay attention to me,’ or maybe something more forward? Maybe it’s a code for - mmmphhh,” 

Ivan, of course, didn’t have much to say after that, given that Alfred had yanked him down, sealing their lips together in a kiss. It was only later, once they’d both broken apart, that Ivan hummed contemplatively, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Alfred shot him a dirty look, daring him to say anything.

“I think,” he murmured, smirking at Alfred’s dark look that didn’t hide the flush building on his cheeks, “that I much prefer this way of getting my attention.”

“What?” Alfred demanded, deliberately ignoring the mischievous smirk on Ivan’s face, “shutting you up?”

“If that’s what you’d like to call it,” Ivan hummed, smirk widening, “I think I’d like to try my hand at it, what do you think, darling?”

“Hey, wait a min- mmmphh!”

**.**

_“Alfred?” he heard his father ask, and turned to the other man with a weak smile that the elder could see right through. His father reached up and smoothed down his hair, smiling gently at what he was sure was a mulish, stubborn expression. “You knew this day would come, poppet,” he reminded gently, “We have all gone through this rite. You knew it would be your turn soon enough.”_

_“I’m not old enough to get married,” he grouched, stubbornly. Arthur tsked, shaking his head._

_“You’re more than old enough to get married,” he responded pointedly, “Or do you not remember that most of your friends are already married, and Elizabeta is already expecting children?”_

_And that was a truth Alfred had ignored for a long while: that he was well beyond the age of marriageability. It was only the tradition of the Challenge that kept his family from making arrangements with others, like much of the rest of the world did. He’d waited for this day with dread ever since he knew what it was, and now he was 21 and out of time._

_His eyes turned to scan the crowd, feeling the corner of his lip twist downwards in an attempt to frown. Thousands upon thousands of people had shown up today, waiting to hear the Challenge he would set forwards. Many of them would even try to enter, try to win the Challenge so they could win his hand. He scanned through countless faces, all of them blurring in his mind until only one set shone through._

_Vivid violet and intoxicating, seizing hold of him and demanding every ounce of his attention. For a second, it was like those days from so long ago, when Ivan would watch him, would fight him – wouldn’t dare look anywhere else but at him, when Alfred demanded it – and God, he hadn’t known at 10 years old, watching Ivan be driven off in his carriage, that when he was ready to announce the challenge that would see him married one day, it would be Ivan’s penetrating stare that would inspire him._

_His father settled a hand on his shoulder, and he broke the stare-off with the imaginary Ivan to turn and face viridian green orbs watching him. “It’s almost time,” he warned, “Are you sure of your Challenge? Once you’ve announced it, you cannot change it.”_

_For a split second, those violet eyes came back to him with their warmth and the love he wanted to see in their depths was a balm on his soul. But then they were gone, and the thought of anyone else’s eyes on him – greedy and jealous, desirous of what he could give them but not_ **_him_ ** _– almost made him sick. No, no one else could win the Challenge – no one could, he wouldn’t be able to stand it._

_So, he would do what no one else had ever considered. He would make the challenge unwinnable for all…_

_Violet flashed, danced across his mind, like the first time he saw them – warm and gentle and so kind even when he was awkward about it…and he smiled._

_Unwinnable to all…_

_“I’m ready.”_

_…save one._

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all have _no_ idea how long I've been sitting on this one. I can't even _remember_.


End file.
